The Adventure of the Whispering City
by Mysterylover17
Summary: EDITED AND REPOSTED! New situations! What happens when the British government is at risk, the Great War is raging across Europe and the one person who has been assigned to help has been murdered? Sherlock Holmes is called out of retirement and along with
1. Prologue: The Doctor's Musing

**I know I've posted this before, but I have added new situations. Please let me know what you think! Please R&R! Enjoy!**

As the eve of another world war draws near and rationing has once again begun, I am pleased to be entering my ninety-fifth year with my own life ebbing to a close. For I long to return to a very different time, where hansom cabs once again race over cobbled streets. Even now, my joints much stiffened from rheumatism, prevent me from lifting a pen myself. Instead, this narrative is being taken down by a young German girl, Greta whose family had immigrated to England at the end of the Great War.

She has been a dear companion to me since my wretched lungs first caused me to enter this hospital. Greta promised me, the dear girl, that she would take down my narrative and turn her writing, a new style called 'short hand' or something like that, into a legible manuscript which she will then turn over to the executers of my estate who will withhold it until that time when it can be safely published.


	2. The Rekindling of a Friendship

My story begins several years ago in the year nineteen hundred sixteen, as the Great War was drawing to a close. My dear wife was on holiday in the wretched country of Switzerland (a place that holds nothing but painful memories for me), visiting one of her many relations and I found myself alone in our Kensington home. Having retired from active practice, (only seeing those few elderly patients who refused to switch physicians), I found myself dreadfully bored. Perhaps it was the fact that my wife mentioned Switzerland, which caused my thoughts to travel to my dearest friend to whom I haven't spoken in nearly two years.

I must say here that no falling out occurred between Holmes and I, but our friendship had always been a queer one and our separate lifestyles simply interfered with our conversing. Finding myself with no immediate plans, I packed a bag and headed to Victoria where I boarded the first train to Sussex. After spending a relaxing hour and a half train ride, I boarded one of the few dogcarts still in existence and headed to Holmes's homestead. I alighted from the cart and shouldered my bag; I smiled when I looked up the gravel path and spied my friend, clad in beekeeping attire, bending over one of his many hives. "Hallo! Hallo! What's this? Do my ears deceive me or is that the tread of Watson I hear upon my gravel path?" I stopped in my tracks and looked at my friend who had not shifted position. A hearty chuckle escaped my lips. "'Pon my word Holmes!" I said, smiling broadly. "Was I really so loud?"It was my friend's turn to smile and he crossed the distance between us in several jaunty strides. I looked him over with a physician's eye and noted that aside from weight loss, he did not appear to be in ill health. My dearest friend grasped my hand warmly. "I daresay I would have made a poor detective if I could not discern your tread after co-habiting with you for over two decades."I took shook his hand with equal warmth. "It is good to see you again Holmes!""Likewise old fellow, likewise! Marriage to this woman suits you I think. You've put on a good two stone since I've seen you last."I blushed at his observation. "And you my dear boy have grown gaunter. What has your diet consisted of?""Mostly honey, it keeps the joints well-lubricated and the mind sharp," he said pushing the mesh back from his face, allowing me to see him full-faced for the first time.His face was creased with lines and his hair, which was once ink black, was now completely grey. As stated before, save for a loss of weight, I was delighted to see that my dear friend had hardly changed. I grinned when I saw he maintained that awful goatee. "Last time we spoke, you said you were going to shave that horrid thing!"He smiled warmly. "I also said that would be our last quiet talk. I am glad to see I was mistaken."His words caused my heart to soar. In a few brief terms, my emotionally stolid friend expressed to me just how much he valued our friendship. I grinned at him. "I am too," I replied quickly. "I am too.""How thoughtless of me!" He ejaculated suddenly with a theatrical flourish. "Years of living alone have dimmed my manners. Come, let us go inside. You must be both exhausted and famished from your travel."My stomach growled suddenly as if on cue and my friend laughed heartily. "Come along old man," he said, placing a guiding hand on my back. Together, we walked the rest of the way up the gravel path into my dearest friend's comfortable homestead."Mrs. Turner!" Holmes called as soon as we crossed the threshold. "Mrs. Turner!""Aye sir?" My friend's call was answered by the appearance of a young girl of about ten years of age or less with red hair pulled back in a severe bun. Upon seeing me, the youth curtseyed. "Abigail, where is your mother?""She's 'angin' the wash in the garden sir," she said demurely."Tell her to come in here this instant! I have company," my friend said irritably. Without another word, he waved his arm dismissing her."Aye sir," with another curtsey, the young girl disappeared into the back of the house."The daughter of my house keeper," Holmes said by way of explanation. "Let us go into the sitting room old boy. Until my house keeper returns and prepares us some lunch."I followed my friend into a large, airy room, which was near the front of his house. Bookcases lined one wall, and his charred chemical bench was idly collecting dust in one corner. His correspondence, as of old habit, was affixed to his mantel by a jackknife and his beloved Stradivarius was tossed on the settee."Your habits old man, have not changed," I said with some chagrin as I cautiously moved his violin.He chuckled and suddenly a bout of violent coughing seized him. He doubled over and his coughs grew much worse. As I approached him, I met his icy stare. "I am fine Watson," he said as he dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. "'Tis the season for colds."

Before I could say another word, he rose and removed two cigars from the coalscuttle, one of which he lit and handed me. He bent over quickly to stroke the fire, which was already burning cheerfully before reclining in an overstuffed armchair. We sat for several moments in silence, wrapping ourselves in the comfort of our cigar smoke.

A few moments later, the outer door opened and Holmes rose and exited the sitting room. I heard his voice telling who I assumed to be his landlady of my arrival and my plans to stay. His speech was then followed by another bout of coughs. When my friend returned and resumed his chair. "Our lunch will be served momentarily," he said, taking a long puff on his cigar.

"It is fine old man," I said closing my eyes and leaning against the cushions. "I do wish you would let me examine you. I don't like the sound of you at all."

"I am fine old man. Should my condition deteriorate, I shall consult you immediately. But now, let us discuss something more pleasant. I am quite pleased, my dear Watson, to once again be seated across from you, sharing in a smoke," my friend said suddenly. "I have missed your company dreadfully."I smiled and opened my eyes to find him observing me keenly. "Likewise dear fellow. But you might have called upon me.""Bah!" he said with a wave of his hand. "I have not been to London for some time.""The air is duller without your presence."He laughed at my observation and inhaled the smoke from his cigar gratefully. "And the air here is all the sweeter for yours."We once again lapsed into a comfortable silence, which was only broken when Mrs. Turner, a plump woman with long grey hair, appeared with our lunch tray which she set upon the table between us. "I hope you find everything to your liking Doctor," she said to me with a slight bow."It smells divine Mrs. Turner," I assured her."Yes," my friend said extinguishing his cigar. "If this meal tastes as good as it smells, Mrs. Turner, you will have outdone yourself."The woman blushed at Holmes's sudden compliment. "Thank you sir. Enjoy." She began to retreat but then turned back suddenly. "Doctor Watson, since you will be staying with us, I took the liberty of fixing up the spare room for you. I hope you find it suitable to your tastes.""I am sure it will be fine," I said with a smile.

With a slight curtsey, the housekeeper took her leave, and my friend and I once again found ourselves alone. It is quite remarkable when one deigns to think of it, how two friends, who have not seen each other in two years and who have not co-habited for over a decade, when suddenly together again, fall back into old habits. As we had done many times in the past, Holmes and I partook our repast in silence, with only the clinking of silverware and the occasional wheeze from Holmes breaking the comfortable silence of the room.

"That was marvelous my dear fellow," I said, pushing back my chair and stretching. "That woman is a true treasure Holmes. Pray do your best to keep her on," I said with a knowing smile.My friend chuckled and also pushed back from the table. "I daresay Watson; you will find I am not nearly as difficult to live with as I was when I resided in Baker Street. I do not believe that either Mrs. Turner or her daughter would call me the very worst tenant in Sussex."I laughed when I heard his response. "I thought you did not read my humble scribbling in the Strand. At least you never did while we were co-habiting, save once or twice but only then to criticize."My friend smiled sheepishly. "Well Watson, while I still do not condone the fact that you have turned what should have been a course lectures into a series of tales, I cannot help but admit, while many of the investigations are presented in a ridiculously romantic sense, the immense talent of their author."A swelling of pride entered my breast. "Thank you Holmes."My friend waved his hand as if to brush away my words, a habit that had yet to die. "But now, let us take advantage of the queer weather and enjoy both the sunshine and the warm air while seated on my porch."

"Yes, and perhaps the warmer air will do well for your lungs. I did observe that you were wheezing."

"A habit one acquires when one moves to the Sussex countryside. My lungs will never grow accustomed to the clear air."We both rose then, and I followed my friend outside where we sat opposite one another in the two basket chairs which occupied my friend's outdoor sitting area. We passed the afternoon leisurely, smoking our pipes and discussing both our past adventures as well as the world affairs of the present.We were driven inside around seven o'clock when the weather took a turn for the worst. A strong gust whipped up and a pelting rain began to fall."What the devil," I cried, when I had divested myself of my waistcoat, which was hanging by the fire drying, and was seated quite comfortably in the sitting room in my shirtsleeves. "I daresay I did not expect rain!"Holmes chuckled and, much to my surprise, donned a hat and his white beekeeping jacket. "Rain my dear fellow, is quite common here during the evenings.""Where the devil are you--""I must prepare my hives for the storm which will most likely begin to rage over this tiny land in an hours' time."I looked out the rain lashed window and saw roughly twenty or so beehives. "Holmes, you'll be soaked to the skin. You have already showed the signs of some malady. Honestly, it would be better to simply leave them--"

My friend flashed me a fleeting smile and went to the door. "Here for a few hours and already you're clucking about like a mother hen. I shall return soon," with that, he was out the door.I stood at the window, peering through the raindrops, watching my friend with curiosity for over a quarter of an hour. I could not, of course, see what he was actually doing, but I watched him, all the same, darting back and forth between the hives, his white jacket starkly visible against the quickly darkening sky."Perhaps tomorrow you would like to see my hives in person?"I turned at his voice and was shocked to see him standing in the doorway. How had I missed him walking to the house?My friend removed both his hat and his jacket, and then ran a hand through his glistening grey hair. "They won't sting you old boy, they are quite safe."I shuddered in spite of myself. "I think I will pass on that offer."He chuckled good-humouredly and lit a cigarette. "If you change your mind--""I won't."Holmes opened his mouth to reply when suddenly his entire face tensed. He bolted to the window and threw up the sash. His body was as taunt as a bowstring."Holmes--""Quite Watson!" He said, his voice tense, reminding me of the days we resided in Baker Street. I half expected a glowing hound or a swamp adder to appear from the gloom outside.A few moments later and I heard what his acute sense of hearing had already discerned, the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the gravel walkway."I didn't know you were expecting com--""I'm not," he hissed.Before I could respond, the pealing of Holmes's front bell shattered the silence of the house, causing me to jump slightly.With a cautious air, Holmes moved to the door. When opened it, his facial expression went from one of curiosity to one of complete shock when he saw the figure standing in the doorway.


	3. The Problem

"Good Lord," I heard my friend ejaculate. I struggled to identify the figure that was standing before him, but it was to no avail. From my position, Holmes had completely blocked my view of the door. "I was not aware the cosmos have shifted so much to cause Jupiter to spring from its orbit--"

"For God's sake Sherlock!" Suddenly my friend was pushed aside and a rather large and imposing figure entered the sitting room, bringing with him some residue from the storm. "Really all this time in isolation has bloody well dimmed your manners."

As I observed the large man, suddenly his identity became known to me. Imagine my surprised when I deduced the figure in the sitting room to be none other than Mycroft Holmes! The man had changed little since I had seen him last; he had, if possible added more girth to his waist and his hair, what was left of it, was completely snow white and fell across his nearly bald head in slight wisps.I rose as he stamped his feet near the hearth. "Mycroft here, allow me to take your coat and hang it by the fire to dry."

The elder Holmes jumped slightly when he heard my voice. He spun round and my eyes locked with his watery grey ones. A twitch of a smile passed across his full lips. "Ah thank you Doctor Watson," he said, divesting himself of his greatcoat. I took it and hung it on the rack near the hearth. "I am glad to see you, unlike my brother, have retained your chivalry."

I smiled and I heard my dearest friend let out a bark of a laugh at his brother's comment."It's true Sherlock," Mycroft said with some heat. He arranged his girth in one of the chairs closest to the crackling fire. "You've become a regular Harpagan of courtesy."

"Brother mine," Holmes said, resuming his own chair. "I daresay you have not traveled all this way from London simply to chastise me about my behavior."  
But the elder brother was not yet finished griping. "And another thing Sherlock. This deuced place you've moved to. Bloody inconvenient to get to isn't it? The trains don't even have the good sense to run regularly."

I smiled at the elder Holmes's statement because I had thought almost the same thing on my way to Victoria. However, my friend did not share our sentiments. He sighed and glared at his brother."Mycroft, I daresay you did not come out here to complain about the trains or my lack of manners. I can deduce that this is not a normal fraternal visit."The statement earned a raised eyebrow from Mycroft Holmes.

"I daresay Sherlock we have not had a normal fraternal visit since you left for university."

"Regardless," my friend said lighting a smaller alternative to his pipe, "pray tell me why you are here."

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and peered at the two of us keenly. "Your housekeeper--"

"In the house behind my quarters."

"And--"

"Unless she has exceptional hearing--"

"Good. Ordinarily, I would protest someone being here." Mycroft gave a stare in my direction.

I shrunk from it and moved to stand."Old rules apply Mycroft," Holmes said icily. "If the matter is too delicate to discuss in front of Watson than it is too delicate for my own ears."

I smiled and resumed my chair; my heart swelling with joy at Holmes's defense of me.Mycroft chuckled. "As usual, brother mine, you are impetuous. You did not let me complete my thought. I was going to say while I would ordinarily object to someone else being present, Doctor Watson is an exception and may remain."

Holmes nodded curtly. "Then I pray you to get to the point."

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped over his enormous abdomen. "I do not know what you men know of international affairs of late."

"Enough I assure you," Holmes said quickly.

"'Enough' Sherlock does not tell me much. I need to know specifics."

"We were just discussing the current political situation over lunch this afternoon," I interjected quietly. "We were discussing Wilson's fourteen points as well as the current--"

"But did either of you mention the problem in Ireland?"

I looked at the elder Holmes. "Ireland? What about it?"

Mycroft rubbed his hands together in agitation. "That is the problem. Even as the Great War rages across Europe, no one knows of one of the most vital aspects--"

"Mycroft, if you are discussing the rather trivial dispute between the Irish and the English over the minor issue of home rule, I daresay you have been infected by Watson's hyperbolic tendencies."

Both Mycroft and I bristled at the comment, albeit for different reasons. Before I could utter any defense for myself, the elder Holmes brought his fist against the small chair side table with enough force to cause the ashtray upon it to skip across its surface."Hyperbolic sentiments? Good God man, haven't you any sense in that brain of yours? The issue of home rule is hardly trivial! Do you know the consequences of such actions? What this could mean for our Empire?"

"Mycroft calm yourself. Although we do have a doctor present," my friend waved a lazy hand in my direction, "I do not think it would behoove you to suffer a fit of apoplexy."

"Confound it Sherlock!" The elder Holmes thundered. He took a deep breath to calm his quickly fraying nerves. For once, I emphasized with Holmes's brother. My friend was being extremely laconic and uncharacteristically rude. If I had known the reason behind his behavior perhaps I might have viewed the situation differently. But as it were, I found myself sharing Mycroft's sentiments.

"Really Holmes," I admonished gently. "This is unlike you."

My comment was greeted by a sarcastic smile. "Ah good old Watson! I'm glad to see you have remained the one fixed point in a changing age. I haven't seen you in years for your lovely wife has occupied you, you're not in my company for more than a day and already you are lecturing me about my behavior. Pshaw old fellow! This is really too much."

I raised my eyebrows at his jealous quip but said nothing. I was used to Holmes's queer moods and behaviors. It was no secret that he abhorred the fact I had married a second time after my dear Mary's death, or as he was apt to say it, I 'abandoned him for that woman's siren call,' and he was simply attempting to make me appear ridiculous.

Mycroft Holmes sighed in aggravation. "Honestly Sherlock I don't know what has gotten into you tonight but--"

"But you are wasting my time. If you have a reason for being here Mycroft, I suggest you get to it and get to it quickly. I have never been a patient fellow."

Using what I deemed to be a generic trait, Mycroft waved his hand to brush away his younger brother's words. He took a moment to rearrange his girth and then began. "Despite my brother's feelings upon the matter, the issue of home rule in Ireland is vital to sustaining our Empire. If the Irish fight for freedom from us, other nations too will feel as though they are quite capable of surviving without us."

"I fail to see what this has to do with me," Holmes said quickly.

Mycroft acted as though his brother hadn't spoken. "As a former military man Doctor Watson, I am certain you can understand why this is a problem. Surely you know these lesser countries cannot manage to rule themselves."

Memories of my time in Afghanistan rushed to the forefront of my mind and I was inclined to agree with Mycroft's words. "Yes Mycroft. They hardly have the capabilities."

"Quite. We, the British government, have certain men stationed in Dublin Castle, in Ireland. These men of course go about and see if there is any hint of uprising. If there is, they inform us and we deal with the situation adequately. Recently, there have been reports about a certain group, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, they call themselves. My men have not been able to learn much about them. However, it is believed that this organization has had some contact with the Germans in regards to arms. What this means, and why we have yet to discover. We do, of course, have suspicions, but there is little we can do unless we have solid facts.'This is where, brother mine, your help is needed."

Sherlock Holmes, who had been idly lounging in his chair, suddenly sat bolt upright; his face changing suddenly. The slightly languid features sharpened and tensed. His eyes suddenly shone, but not with anticipation but with anger. "While I have, in my years as a consulting detective, done many a service for this government, I am appalled that you would even suggest my name to such a task."

Mycroft seemed to be taken aback by his brother's response. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I can overlook the fact that you have ignored my retirement from detective work. But I cannot and will not have all the work I've done over the past three decades ridiculed in such a manner!"

"Sherlock I do not understand--"

"I was a consulting detective brother mine," the detective turned beekeeper said icily. "I was the only one of my kind. I used logic and deduction to solve the little problems that came to my door in Baker Street. Some of those problems were those of royalty."

"I am aware of that fact Sherlock--"

"You say you know all of this and yet you come to my door in Sussex asking me, the world's first consulting detective, to participate in simple espionage? You insult not only my reputation but also my intellect."

"Sherlock this is not a time for your damned vanity. Your country needs you."

"My country," my friend hissed, "has individuals who are specialists in the field of espionage. As I am in the field of detection."

"Sherlock listen to reason!"

"I shall not listen to you attempt to make logical sense out of utter nonsense. If the Irish want to speak with the Germans let them. I, for one, as a detective, will not stop it. You are wasting your time here Mycroft. Tell His Majesty I will not lower myself to such a level. Nor will I accept a case," my friend stared hard at his older brother, "if I am not in possession of all the facts."

Mycroft Holmes sighed in exasperation. There was a moment of tense silence when suddenly the elder brother slumped back against the chair in defeat. "You're correct Sherlock."

My friend and I both stared at the man seated before us. "Pray continue," Holmes said, lighting another cigarette.

"There is more."

"As I thought."

"Two days ago the Home Secretary received an encrypted message from Dublin Castle. One of our top informants was found in his bedchamber murdered. Affixed to his nightshirt was a slip of paper, which read: 'They shall be remembered forever. They shall be alive forever. They shall be speaking forever, the people shall hear them forever.' We've no notion of what the note means of how Wilkins, our informant, met his end.'We just know that he held some important information regarding the meetings between the Brotherhood and the Germans. He was supposed to send this information to the Home Secretary yesterday. However, no missive has been received.

'It is vital Sherlock that we discover what information Wilkins possessed and why he was murdered. I have spoken extensively with the Home Secretary, the Prime Minister and His Majesty himself and we have concluded that you are the only person with the ability and the discretion to help us.'Put your bees and your vanity aside Sherlock," Mycroft warned. "Your country needs your help if we are to preserve our empire."

There was another moment of tense silence, broken only by the howling of the wind across the flat landscape. Not one given to fancy, I could not help but think that the cry of agony of the wind was a premonition of the agony and danger that was to befall my friend if he accepted his brother's mission.

Suddenly, he turned his head towards me, his grey eyes shining. "What do you say Watson? Shall we take up the chase?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Shall we take up the chase?"

"You wish me to…"

"Are you not my trusty Boswell or has your wife robbed me of even that?"

I smiled when I heard the enthusiasm in his voice. "Never Holmes."

"Then will you accompany me on this adventure Watson?"

I paused a moment and thought of my dear Anne on holiday who would be returning with in a week. I thought too of those few elderly patients who relied on me to cure them of their maladies. But then, I remembered the thrill of the chase; the nights spent with my friend huddled in a dark corner, waiting to expose a villain. I met his shining eyes. "Where you like and when you like."

"Excellent!" He favored me with a smile which I returned. He returned his attention to his brother. "Now Mycroft, if you would care to tell us the rest of the details I would be most obliged."

Mycroft Holmes appeared relieved. We spent the next hour discussing travel plans and the like. Holmes and I would be leaving on the morrow for Dublin."You're doing your country a great service Sherlock and you too Doctor Watson," Mycroft said when we had gone over every last detail. "I shall inform the Home Secretary at once of your decision. I bid you gentlemen goodnight and I shall be in touch."

With that, Mycroft left my friend's small homestead, leaving us sitting in front of a dying fire."Get some rest old fellow," Holmes said quietly. "We've a busy day ahead of us."

As I was rising from the sitting room, the doorbell once again rang. Holmes rose to answer it and much to my surprise it was a lad with a telegram. My friend quickly paid the boy and opened the envelope. A slight gasp escaped his throat and he crumpled the letter in his fist. His face paled and he appeared on the verge of fainting. When I rushed forward to grasp his arm, I was met with such a venomous look that I stayed where I stood.

"Holmes? Are you all right?"My friend nodded. "Yes, I'm fine Watson. Goodnight."

"Yes but-"

"Goodnight old man."


	4. Frightening News

Knowing there was little I could do to discover what was troubling him, I allowed him to show me to my room and I bid him goodnight. I lay down on the narrow bed, and wondered about the contents of the telegram. However, I soon reasoned it was no concern of mine and allowed my mind to focus on the events that Mycroft Holmes had told us about. I was glad to once again be accompanying my dearest friend on yet another adventure. If I knew the horrors that awaited us, I sincerely doubt either Holmes or I would have agreed to take up the chase. But, since neither of us possessed clairvoyant abilities, we could only retire to our rooms and anxiously await the morning when we would together, once again, fight for justice.Sleep did not come easy to me that night. Although my quarters were exceedingly comfortable, my body and mind was filled with anticipation at joining my dearest friend in an adventure once again. Although excited, I could not quash the feeling of dread that was quickly overcoming me. We were heading into, as Mycroft Holmes had described it, an extremely volatile area and one of which had had very limited knowledge. Much to my surprise, Holmes too, seemed to be affected by some kind of anxiety for around three in the morning, the strong order of shag tobacco permeated my room. In days of old, I would have never vacated my room and intrude upon his private thoughts. However, since I had not seen my friend for some years and my own anxieties were running rampant in the dark room, I threw off the bedclothes and padded into the sitting room. There, I found Holmes in a basket chair, his ancient black briar clamped between his teeth, leaning forward and staring into a slowly dying fire. His hand was clenched around what appeared to be a sheaf of paper. An air of melancholy surrounded him that I had never before associated with the man, even when he was in one of his black moods in days of old. I made no sound and he did not acknowledge my presence immediately. We stayed in this odd silence for several moments until he chose to break it.

"How marriage changes one's habits. When we had co-habited in Baker Street, you would never think of vacating your room to intrude upon my thoughts," his voice was wistful and nostalgic and, for a moment, I feared he was once again in the clutches of his syringe.

"Would you prefer I go?"

He shook his head. "No, perhaps you presence will banish these thoughts that are plaguing my mind."

A feeling as cold as ice began to wrap itself around my heart although I attempted to quash it. Had his will once again succumbed to the deadly clutches of cocaine? I sat across from him and took in his face, which appeared pale and haggard. His grey eyes were pools of sorrow as they searched my face. "About what were you thinking?"

He took a deep breath and I could hear his lungs wheezing. I bit my tongue to refrain from mentioning it. Something was troubling my friend and it was my first priority to discover what that was. "Mortality old fellow, namely mine."

"That's morbid even for you Holmes," I said.

"I realized that my life has no true meaning old boy. If I were to shuffle off this mortal coil tomorrow, both Mycroft and His Majesty would find it most inconvenient. However, after I solve their ridiculous problem, I could die and no one would care a whit."

"How can you say these things?"

"Because they are true! If I die tomorrow it would matter but if I die in a month's time, no one will care."

"I would!"

"Pshaw old fellow! Granted, you will be the most affected by my passing however, it will not last long. Your dear wife will do everything in her power to make you forget your eccentric friend."

I was suddenly becoming alarmed at his change of time. No longer was he speaking in hypothetical terms but was rather speaking as though his death was an imminent certainty. "Why are you speaking such nonsense?"

"Because death is inevitable. Besides, you should be happy about my death, it will improve your life. You are my sole beneficiary."

He was attempting to get a rise out of me, attempting to anger me and I wanted to know why. "Holmes, I am too old for your tricks. What do you want me to say?"

"That you will not accompany me to Ireland."

"But why?"

My friend opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a bout of severe coughing. Acting on instinct, I rose to fetch him a glass of water. After retrieving it, I returned to the sitting room and knelt in front of him. "Here," I said when his coughing abated somewhat. "Drink this. And then let me examine you. This sounds infinitely more serious than a springtime cold."

He nodded gratefully to me and took the glass. It was then that I saw it; the outside of his right hand was flecked with blood. "Dear Lord Holmes!"

"Hm?" He looked at me, and then his own eyes followed my gaze to his hand. With a gasp of anger, he quickly set down the glass and wiped his hand clean with a handkerchief.

"Holmes you must let me examine you this instant! You're coughing up blood."

"An astute observation my dear doctor," he said, his voice suddenly extremely fatigued. "However, it has come a bit late."

"How long has this been happening?"

My friend shrugged his slender shoulders and wheezed slightly. "A month perhaps."

"Dear Lord!" I ejaculated. "Holmes, this is serious!"

"Indeed it is." The gravity with which he spoke those words sent a chill to my heart.

I leaned back onto my heels and stared up at him. "Is this part of your reasoning for not wanting me to accompany you on your investigation?"

He nodded but said nothing. Suddenly an imaginary spot on his trousers caught his interest and he studied that instead of looking into my face.

"Tell me Holmes," I said, attempting to keep my voice steady. After seeing the blood on his hand, a million diagnoses were swirling through my mind. None of them were very favorable. "I believe I can call myself a competent medical man and also your dearest friend. I would appreciate the truth."

Once again he nodded. "Good old Watson, the one fixed point in a changing age. I've said that to you before have I not?"

"Yes."

"You may take comfort in the fact that I speak the truth. Even now, when you know I am not being completely honest with you, you remain at my side. Why is that?"

Knowing it was his habit to dance around, what he considered to be, unfavorable topics before getting to the point, I knew it was best to indulge him. "I love you. You are, after all, my dearest friend."

"You shall be glad to know those feelings are reciprocated. And it is because of those feelings that I do not wish for you to accompany me to Ireland."

"I'm afraid I do not understand."

"I am facing my own mortality old man. It is unlikely that I will be able to ever seen England again after I depart for Ireland. I do not want to cause you any more unnecessary pain. I believe I've caused you enough in our long association."

I've always found it a literary conceit to say the blood ran from someone's face, but I literally felt my own go ashen. My hands began to shake as his words registered in my brain. "What are you saying?" My voice was hoarse.

When he did not answer me, I leapt to my feet and seized him roughly by the shoulders, forcing him to look at me. "What are you saying Holmes? Damnit man, answer me!"

"Compose yourself Watson," he barked angrily. "If this is how you handle dying patients-"

I did not let him finish because my open palm, seemingly on its own accord, struck his pale cheek hard enough to cause his head to snap to the side. I felt myself trembling. "You're not dying," I said through clenched teeth. "Do not even joke about such things."

"It was this type of reaction I was trying to avoid," he said, his voice gruff. "Sit and let us discuss this like civilized men."

Numbly, I did as he suggested. As I reached the chair, my legs gave way and I collapsed into the seat. Suddenly, it seemed, I was incapable of feeling anything. "How long did you know?" I rasped.

He shrugged his slender shoulders. "The possibility existed for some time. The diagnosis, however, was confirmed this evening."

"The telegram."

He nodded. "I am glad to see your deduction skills have improved over the years. I was fearing that--"

"How can you chide me at a time like this?" I thundered. "How the devil can you sit there smugly and tell me that you're…" I could not bring myself to utter those life-changing words. Instead, I swallowed and savagely wiped at my eyes, which were beginning to leak tears. "How can…no, God no! Not you Holmes, not you!" I shook my head like a petulant child and buried my face in my palms. "No..."

"Watson," I heard his voice and simultaneously felt the weight of his hand on my shoulder. Still, I refused to look up at him. I knew my physician's eyes would take in every detail of his face and see things that were previously hidden from me. My friend was right, I had seen but had not observed. "Watson, look at me."

My will, which was so used to obeying to his every command, caused me to look up at him. When I did, I was startled to see the light of unshed tears in his grey eyes. "My dear Watson, I am so sorry."

"Why did you not tell me? My God man, I thought I was your friend. I thought I could be trusted! You've insulted my medical intelligence in the past, and I see you still do not trust it entirely because you apparently consulted another physician. I do not care whom you consulted but I thought you would at least have told…do I really mean that little to you Holmes for you to keep such a secret from me?"

"My dear Watson, how can you speak such words?" A dark part of me was happy to hear his voice on the verge of breaking. "Is there no way I can convince you that your statements are false?"

"Tell me everything," I said flatly. For a terrifying moment, I felt nothing. It seemed as though every facet of my body with nerve-endings died, leaving me completely numb. I always considered myself a man of feelings rather than intellect, and when those seemed to have abandoned me, I was frightened.

My friend took a deep shuddering breath and sipped on the water I had given him. "There is not much to tell I'm afraid. For several weeks, I had been feeling extremely fatigued and I had an intense pain in my chest. As is my wont, I simply ignored both and continued to tend to my bees. However, about a month ago, Mrs. Turner had found me collapsed beside one of my hives.

'I had wanted to call you old friend, by God I did. However, Mrs. Turner quite literally contacted the nearest physician, heedless of my wishes to consult you. If you still find yourself doubting my word, I pray you to ask her tomorrow."

He was speaking frankly, of that I had no doubt. However, I still felt betrayed because I had not learned of the fate that had befallen the man whom I considered to be my dearest friend. "The diagnosis Holmes. Tell me this physician's diagnosis."

Holmes tossed me the sheaf of paper he had been clutching. Quickly, he got to his feet and crossed to the mantel. It took me a full minute to realize it was the telegram he had received earlier. I smoothed the paper out on my knee and read the words. As I read them, a new wave of sheer terror washed over me.

"I take it you are familiar with Virchow's recent study on my malady?" He asked after giving me time to digest what I had read.

I nodded dumbly. Although the condition of cancer had been around since the time of the ancient Egyptians, the official study of such a complaint was still in its infancy. However, one thing was known. It was a murderer and a rapid one at that. "The tumor," I asked when I had finally found my voice. "Where-"

"From what Doctor Lombardo can tell, I have several on my lungs. He says I don't have…" he stopped speaking when the first stirrings of a sob entered his voice. He cleared his throat and stared at his feet. "Now you know. I-I can't allow you to watch me die Watson. I-" His words were interrupted by what sounded like a cross between severe coughs and sobs.

I rose from my chair and moved like a man in a fog. For one of the few times in my life, my brain seemed to shut down and my body reacted on feelings alone. I crossed to where he was standing and wrapped my arms tightly around him, ignoring his outburst of surprise and his frantic attempts to extricate himself from my embrace. Being shorter than he, I rested my overwrought head against his shoulder and shamelessly cried into the fabric of his dressing gown. "I shan't leave you Holmes."

"Watson…please I…" He attempted to say something more but his voice finally broke and I felt the back of my neck grow wet and, simultaneously, felt his arms fiercely crush me to his breast, his very limbs shaking from sheer terror. I looked up and saw that stolid Sherlock Holmes was crying.

I know not how long we remained standing in front of the hearth, clinging to each other for safe harbor from the sea of unknowns that surrounded us. However, it was Holmes who finally pulled himself out of my arms and stepped backwards, frantically wiping his eyes. "I feel like a damn fool." He attempted to laugh but it sounded shrill and forced to both of our ears. "I can't believe I'm standing here when there is work to be done."

"Holmes!" I stared at him. "You cannot be serious. The news you just received is devastating. You are not seriously considering leaving the country are you?"

"There is life left within me yet Watson," he said with false bravado. "If I am to die, it shall be while conducting an investigation."

I knew the man well enough to know that any medical arguments would go unheeded. So I did the only thing I could. I straightened my shoulders and squared my chin manfully. For once, I refused to succumb to his intense will. "Then you shan't go alone."

"Watson, don't be ridiculous. You cannot possibly-"

"I've made up my mind Holmes. This disease, although I have not made a study of it myself, can be considered deteriorating. If you are going to continue down this absurd path, then you will most assuredly need medical assistance."

"Which I am certain I can find abroad."

"I am not made of stone Holmes. It is by your side that I belong in life and it is by your side that I will remain even if you die." My voice broke on the last word. "Do not shut me out or send me away Holmes. I could not bear it."

"Taking you with me goes against my very bones Watson," he said softly. He no longer faced me but rested his hands on the mantle top and stared into the glowing embers. It was a pose I had seen him adopt many times in Baker Street when he was weighing a pressing problem.

"I'd rather be in conflict with your bones than with my own heart and conscience."

Silence once again stretched between us.

"This will be a dangerous investigation."

"So were many others I have had the privilege to share with you."

"There is great risk involved. We would be venturing into unknown and hostile territory."

"Have you forgotten that I served in Mawiand? I am discomforted by neither danger nor hostility."

"We will be fighting an unknown enemy."

"As we have many times before old fellow," I replied warmly. "I believe that you have stated this preamble numerous times in the past."

Suddenly, he hung his head and leaned it against the mantel. At this momentary show of weakness, I moved to approach him but was stopped by his voice, which although soft and strained, was as masterful as always. "Stay where you are Watson," he rasped. "And I suggest that you write your wife and inform her that you will be away for several weeks, because you are once again throwing your lot in with mine."

I couldn't help but smile. "I shall do so immediately."

"Now retire to your room Watson and get some rest. I shall stay and smoke for awhile."

Despite the fact that my eyes burned for sleep, I could not bring myself to leave the side of my dearest friend. "Perhaps I shall smoke with you, as in days of old."

He shook his head and took a great, wheezing breath. "No old man, that will not do. You need sleep, for we'll make a start in the morning." My friend then raised his head and charged his pipe which he quickly brought to his lips.

"Given the diagnosis, are you sure that is wise?"

Holmes shook his head. "I shall not give up tobacco. It helps me to think."

"Ah yes, of course."

Silence filled the room once again, and I stood awkwardly next to my chair, seemingly on the threshold between Heaven and Hell.

"Honestly Watson," his voice was filled with exasperation. "I believe I've already made it perfectly clear to you that I shall not die tonight. It would be, as stated before, considered a severe inconvenient to both my brother as well as His Majesty. Rest easy old friend, and sleep well."

With that grave dismissal I could do nothing but take my leave. "Goodnight Holmes."

Almost inaudibly, he whispered: "Goodnight Watson."

With a heavy heart, I left the sitting room and padded my way back to my bedroom. However, even though the covers were warm and kept out the early morning spring chill, I could not stop myself from shivering. The impending mortality of my friend weighed heavily upon my heart and conscience. Sleep, as you my dear readers can very well guess, did not come easily to me that night.

I must have succumbed to Morphues for I was awakened by someone shaking my gently by the shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw my pale-faced friend, standing, like in days of old, fully dressed by my bedside.

"Rouse yourself Watson," he said with a rye smile. "The game is once again afoot."

I smiled sleepily, and then, all at once, memories of the night before came rushing back to me. "Holmes! How is your chest? Do you still have a cough? How much blood did you-"

"I did not invite you with me, my dear fellow, to have you clucking about like a mother hen. I expect you to be in the sitting room and dressed in five minutes." Without another word, he turned on his heel and left me with my muddled thoughts. Once again, moving as though in a fog, I threw off the covers, quickly dressed and completed my toilet.

"You are late my friend," Holmes said, looking up from the newspaper he was reading when he heard me enter. His eyes were shining and I could not help but smile.

"It does take some time you know Holmes," I answered, seating myself across from him at the breakfast table. "I have not had to dress quickly for some years."

"There is only enough time, I fear Watson, for a cup of coffee. I shall ring for Mrs. Turner, and have her bring up a fresh cup."

"Thank you." As he rose, I allowed my physician's eye to stare at him. Despite his bravado and his attempt to appear as though nothing was wrong, I noticed his normally gaunt frame appeared almost emaciated and his movements, despite his attempt to mask it, were more sluggish then usual. These were, of course, symptoms I should have deduced yesterday, but the joy of seeing my old friend once again hindered what limited observational skills I possessed.

"Watson," his voice broke into my thoughts and I looked up, surprised to see him once again seated across from me. His grey eyes flashed fire as he stared at me. "I shall not have you examining me as though I am some specimen under a microscope."

I sighed and leaned my head against the backrest of the chair and sighed in exasperation. "I do apologize," I did little to hide the sarcasm in my tone. "But although you are quite capable of dealing with the news of your impending death, mere mortals like myself, are still trying to comprehend it."

Any further speech was stopped when Mrs. Turner brought in a fresh pot of coffee and some delicious smelling scones. "You have barely eaten all week Mr. Holmes," she replied when my friend attempted to protest. "I shall not have you running about on a completely empty stomach."

"Thank you Mrs. Turner," I smiled at the woman. When she had gone, I took the liberty of placing a scone on the plate in front of the consulting detective. "You will eat that."

"Or what doctor? Are you going to strap me down?"

"A sick man is but a child and I will treat you as such. I am not above force feeding."

He paled slightly when he realized there was no mirth behind my words. He slowly cut a piece of the scone and speared it with his fork. I felt all blood drain from my face when, after he had finished chewing, he began to gag. Instantly I leapt to my feet and rush to his aid. "Holmes!" His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in faux swallows and his face grew slightly pale. I grabbed a napkin and held it to his mouth. Pride was preventing him from spitting out the offending matter. "Easy Holmes," I rubbed slow circles on his back as his throat muscles continued to contract. "Spit it out." After a second, he could no longer control his gag reflex and spat the scone into the napkin. Immediately, he dropped his eyes and stared at the floor, his embarrassment quite obvious to even the most unobservant person.

"It's quite all right old man," I said soothingly.

He shook his head and pushed back from the table. He ran his hand over the lower part of his face and attempted to once again show nothing but an attitude of sangfroid. "Come," he said with a slightly unsteady voice. "We shall be late for our train. Grab your bags and we shall go."

Knowing better then to press him, I did as he requested. It was only when we found ourselves comfortably in a private first class cabin that I voiced my concerns. "How long has that been happening?"

"What?"

"The difficulty swallowing?"

He colored slightly and shrugged his shoulders.

"As you physician, I expect complete honesty Holmes. I need to ensure that you remain healthy enough to conduct this lubricious investigation."

"That is not why I invited you with me," he said tightly. "I simply thought you would enjoy the thrill of the chase once again."

"The very moment I feel you are too sick to continue, we are returning to Sussex, Mycroft and the king be damned."

"I am not your child." Despite his failing health, he was as masterful as always.

"And I hope I will not have to treat you as such. Now tell me, how long have you had difficulty swallowing?"

Silence stretched between us and, when he finally spoke, his voice was so soft that I had trouble hearing him. "That has never happened before."

"Truthfully?"

He nodded and lit his pipe with less then steady hands. I thrust my hands into my pockets so my friend would not see how this news affected me. Difficulty swallowing only meant that his disease was spreading throughout his body. I swallowed hard and smiled.


	5. The Agreement

**A/N: I am sorry for the long delay. Life has been exceedingly hetic. However, I have returned and will continue this story. Thank you to all my reviewers. I hope you will continue to enjoy this story.**

* * *

Silence once again stretched between us, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts. Holmes', no doubt, were focused on his upcoming investigation. Mine, however, were more macabre. Despite my attempts to ignore it, Holmes' plight clung to my conscious thoughts like a leach, sucking my mind dry of everything save his impending mortality. Even as I attempted to look elsewhere, my eyes traveled on their own accord to his pale and haggard face and my ears continued to hear his labored breathing over the steady click-clacking of the train wheels. Although he explained the situation to me, I still felt a pang of hurt that I had not learned of his quandary sooner. Did I really mean so little to him?

This train of thought was, however, broken when Holmes said my name sharply. When I looked up at him, his grey eyes were stormy and I felt myself, inexplicably, go on the defense. "What is it Holmes?"

"Watson, this really will not do."

I raised my eyebrows and said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I cannot concentrate with you staring at me as though I am going to whither away before your very eyes."

"Eventually you will!" Instantly, I regretted my outburst. If possible, Holmes' eyes grew even more angry at my words.

"This is precisely what I mean," he said sternly. "I am not as young as I used to be Watson and I need to remove whatever grit might have built up inside my finely tuned mind during my retirement. The only way I can do that is to devote all my energies to this little problem, hoping my powers of observation and deduction have not completely rusted over from disuse." He fixed me with a sharp gaze. "I cannot do that if you are going to be forever harping on the trivial malady inside my lungs."

"Trivial?" I bolted to my feet in agitation and began to, quite uncharacteristically, pace the small compartment. "How can you call cancer trivial? My God man, do you not realize the seriousness of your condition?"

"Yes, Doctor Lombardo explained it quite well."

His laconic tone irritated me more then I cared to admit. "Then you should know that you are dying and-"

"And although I know this fact _doctor_," never before have I heard him use such contempt when uttering a word, "I am choosing to ignore it. I suggest you do the same."

"I am sorry Holmes, but I cannot overlook the seriousness of -"

"Then I am afraid you must exit the train at the next station and buy yourself a ticket back to London."

His words startled me and I found myself staring at him completely dumbstruck. "What did you say?"

Some trick of sunlight gave me the impression that Holmes had pain in his eyes. "You heard me quite well doctor. If you cannot overlook my," he paused for a moment, taking the opportunity to avert his eyes from my own, "impending death, then I must ask you to leave my presence. I know you have only my own good at heart," he said when I opened my mouth to protest. "I would be a fool if I thought differently. But Watson, if I am to bring this investigation to a successful conclusion then I cannot afford to focus on anything but the case at hand. Surely you can understand that."

I nodded but said nothing. Truth be told, I was afraid to speak for fear of my voice cracking with emotion. Despite his feigned bravado, Sherlock Holmes delivered his speech in gasps and wheezes. After hearing him, I had the frightening thought that his illness was much more advanced then he had originally lead me to believe. This, coupled by the knowledge of what happened to him at the breakfast table, merely confirmed my hypothesis.

After taking a deep crackling breath, Holmes continued. "Although I have told you on numerous occasions that I care naught for the public's opinion, I would not like to be remembered as a failure."

"That would never happen," I said thickly.

He chortled mirthlessly. "Honestly Watson, you do amuse me. Even you must realize that all my successes count for nothing if my final investigation ends in failure."

"But it won't."

"I sincerely hope you are correct. However, I already have my age to contend with as well as these troublesome lungs. I do not need to add your negativity to the ever increasing burden against me." He looked at me sharply for a moment before coughing into a handkerchief he produced from one of his pockets. Although I did not see the cloth, I had no doubt that it was stained red. "If you are willing to serve as my trusty Boswell one last time, I would love nothing more then to have you at my side once more. However, if you are going to be a constant reminder that I am dying, then you must leave. My mind is too weary to focus on both trains of thought at once. The decision, my dear friend, is yours."

I felt as though I was suddenly standing on the edge of a yawning abyss, with the chasm on one side of me and a man eating Hydra on the other. On one hand I wanted nothing more then to accompany my friend on yet another adventure. But on the other, he was asking me to do the impossible. I could not, even if my dear Anne's life depended on it, ignore the fact he was dying before my eyes.

When I did not respond immediately, my auditory faculty suddenly was playing tricks on me. I thought, for a moment, I heard an anguished cry coming from my friend's throat. But, when I looked at him, he was staring out the window, his right hand shielding his face from me.

"I do not know how far the next station is," he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. "However I am certain we will reach it within the hour. When we approach it, I will consult my Bradshaw and see at what time the next train to London departs. Perhaps we could have a last quiet luncheon together." The utter despair I heard in his voice cut me to the core. For one of the few times in our long association, Holmes was facing me without the protection of his cold mask of indifference. He was frightened and he wanted my by his side.

I took a deep breath. "We can lunch on the boat to Dublin."

His gaunt face stared at me. "You agree to my terms?"

"You don't give me much of a choice Holmes," I murmured. "I can hardly leave you knowing what I know."

He smiled grimly. "You are willing to be my friend and Boswell and nothing else?"

I hesitated for a moment then nodded. "Yes."

"Excellent Watson," he said clapping my back.

It was when I heard another bout of violent coughs wrack his small frame that I wondered what type of ghastly mistake I had made. However, I had given my word and I was too much of a gentleman to go back on it. I merely settled back down in my chair and allowed the sound of the speeding train to lull me into a restless slumber, silently praying to God that Holmes' predictions would be erroneous and we'd return from Ireland arm in arm.


End file.
